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‘I think she cobbled together some story about Daiyu’s spiritual destiny to explain anything weird Becca and her siblings might have noticed. I think she fed Becca a line about Daiyu not being really dead, that the things she or her siblings had witnessed had mystic explanations. She encouraged Becca to come to her with anything else she’d heard or noticed, so Carrie could tie them in with her nonsense story about dematerialisation and resurrection, in which she’d played her own pre-ordained part, and I think she told Becca all of this was going to be their special secret, as the Blessed Divinity wanted.
‘And Becca bought all of it. She kept silent when Carrie told her to, she shut her siblings down, she gave them pseudo-mystical explanations, or told them off for being grasses. Which means, ironically, that the myth of the Drowned Prophet began, not with your father or Mazu, but out of a teenager’s imagination, in service of covering up a murder and silencing a kid who was a danger to all of you.
‘And after the inquest was over, Carrie did a flit, changed her name and tried to forget what she’d colluded in and tried to cover up. I suspect it was at that point that the heartbroken Becca went to your father and told him the whole story. If I had to guess,’ said Strike, watching Abigail closely for her reaction, ‘your father took you aside at some point, probably after he’d talked to Becca.’
Abigail’s lips twitched, but she remained silent.
‘Your father must’ve known you should’ve been in the dormitory that night, and he definitely knew you were on early duty that day and saw the truck pass. He might’ve asked what you were burning in the woods. He’ll have already noted the strange coincidence of Daiyu dying exactly where his first wife did, as though someone was trying to rub his face in it, or even cast suspicion on him. Because he should’ve been on his way to Birmingham with a fifteen-year-old girl when Daiyu “drowned”, shouldn’t he? Whether the police brought him in for questioning about taking an underage girl he’d only known a week on a road trip, or about infanticide, it wouldn’t look very good for a church leader, would it?
‘No, I think your father suspected or guessed that you were behind Daiyu’s disappearance, but being who he is – an amoral narcissist – all he really cared about was hushing it up. He’d just been handed the story of Daiyu ascending to heaven through the divine vessel of Carrie Gittins and he definitely didn’t want his daughter banged up on suspicion of murder – very bad for business. Much better to accept the supernatural explanation, to comfort his distraught wife with this mystic bullshit. Bereaved people will clutch at that kind of stuff, or there wouldn’t be any bloody mediums. So your father strings Becca along; he says, yes, he knew all along Carrie wasn’t a bad person, that she was merely helping Daiyu fulfil her destiny, and how clever of Becca, for seeing the truth.
‘Then he, too, does a bit of expert grooming. Perhaps he told Becca that it had been foreseen that she would come to him as a divine messenger. Maybe he told her the spirit of the prophet lived on in her. He flattered her and groomed her exactly as you groomed Daiyu – but without the ending of the pigs and the axe, in the woods at night.
‘You were shunted off to Birmingham to keep you out of sight and out of trouble, and Becca was secreted somewhere safe, somewhere you couldn’t get at her, where your father indoctrinated her so thoroughly into obedience and chastity and unquestioning loyalty that she’s become a very useful tool for the church. I think she’s been kept in a state of virginity for no other reason than that Wace doesn’t want her getting too close to anyone but him, and also because she’s the one woman he doesn’t want Mazu getting jealous of – because Becca’s the keeper of the biggest secrets. Becca’s the one who could testify that the supernatural explanation for Daiyu’s disappearance came from Carrie, not your father, and she could also tell a story of how expertly Wace fed her vanity, to keep her from ever talking. From what Robin found out at Chapman Farm, Becca might well have moments of lucidity, but it doesn’t seem to overly trouble her. I don’t think there’s a more committed believer in the UHC than Becca Pirbright.’
Strike now sat back in his chair, watching Abigail, who now looked back at him with a strange, calculating expression on her pale face.
‘Are you about to say that’s all speculation, too?’ asked Strike.
‘Well, it is,’ said Abigail, her voice slightly hoarse, but defiant, nonetheless.
She dropped her third cigarette to the ground and lit a fourth.
‘Well, then, let’s move on to more provable matters,’ said Strike. ‘Kevin Pirbright, shot through the head a few days after he told someone he was going to meet the bully from the church. A Beretta 9000 firing bullets at my car. A balaclavaed figure, padded out in a man’s black jacket, trying to smash its way into my office with the butt of a gun. Those phone calls, and the resultant suicide attempts. A phone call made to the Delaunays from the same mobile used in the call to Carrie, telling them Daiyu’s still alive, trying to drag them into the frame of suspicion and to derail my investigation.
‘My conclusions are as follows,’ said Strike. ‘The person behind all of this has access to a motley selection of men to do her bidding. She’s either sleeping with them, or stringing them along so they think she will. I doubt any of them know what they’re doing it for: possibly I’m a jealous ex-boyfriend who needs watching. They can’t keep my agency under surveillance all the time, and nor can the woman giving the orders, because they’ve all got jobs.
‘I further conclude that the person directing operations is themselves fit, strong and addicted to adrenalin – the escape from Kevin Pirbright’s bedsit, the attempted break-in of my office, the tailing of my BMW by the blue Ford Focus, the shooting. That person is more efficient than any of her underlings and doesn’t mind narrow escapes.
‘I think this person is clever and capable of hard work when it’s in her interests. She kept tabs on Paul Draper, Carrie Curtis Woods and Jordan Reaney – although possibly me telling you Reaney was in the nick put you onto his current whereabouts.
‘But I don’t think Reaney told you about the Polaroids. I thought he must have done, initially, but I was wrong. Reaney knew he’d fucked up, though. His reaction had told me those Polaroids were even more significant than they looked. You threatened to turn him in for Daiyu’s murder if anything he’d said or done led to you, and he panicked, and overdosed. Reaney’s got more of a conscience than you’d think from his CV. Like you, he still has nightmares about chopping up that child and feeding her to the pigs in the dark.
‘The reason I know Reaney didn’t tell you about the pictures is Carrie wasn’t expecting them. The killer hadn’t been able to forewarn her, which meant she had to come up with a story on the spot. She knew she mustn’t identify you or Reaney, the two killers, so she pulled two names out of thin air. I note, too, that it was only after Carrie blabbed to you about the Polaroids that the masked gunman turned up at my office and tried to break in. You weren’t after the UHC file. You were after the pictures. Trouble is, in tracing Carrie, you missed a boyfriend and a name change between Chapman Farm and Thornbury. Isaac Mills is still with us, and he’s prepared to testify about what Carrie confessed to him when drunk.’
A sneer twisted Abigail’s mouth again.
‘It’s all hearsay an’ specker—’
‘Speculation? You really think so?’
‘You’ve got fuck all. It’s all fuckin’ fantasy.’
‘I’ve got the axe Jordan Reaney hid in a tree, an axe that’s been the subject of a lot of rumours among the kids at Chapman Farm. Your half-brother thought it had something to do with Daiyu. What had he overheard, that made him think that? Forensics have moved on a lot since the mid-nineties. It won’t be hard to pick up even a speck of human blood on that axe. I’ve also got a sample of earth from the middle of those broken posts. All a lab will need is a few bone fragments, even very small ones, and Mazu’s DNA will confirm their identity.
‘Now, you might well say, “even if Daiyu was murdered in the woods, how d’you prove it was me?” Well, one of my detectives has been at your flat with your lodger tonight. You’d have done better to kick Patrick out when you said you would. A useful dogsbody, I’m sure, but thick and mouthy. My detective found Kevin Pirbright’s laptop hidden inside a chair cushion in your bedroom. He found the bulky black men’s jacket you borrowed from Patrick to murder Kevin Pirbright and to try and break into my office. Most importantly, he’s found a Beretta 9000 stinking of smoke, sewn up inside a cushion on your bed. Strange, the things a firefighter might find in a burning flat, when they’ve finished dragging junkies out of harm’s way.’
Abigail’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She remained frozen, with the cigarette between her fingers, as Strike heard a car pulling up outside the fire station and watched the driver get out. Evidently, Robin had acted on his instructions.
‘This,’ he said, turning back to Abigail, ‘is Detective Inspector Ryan Murphy of the Metropolitan Police. I wouldn’t make too much trouble when he arrests you. He was supposed to be having dinner with his girlfriend tonight, so he’ll be in a bad mood already.’
EPILOGUE
T’ai/Peace
No plain not followed by a slope.
No going not followed by a return.
